My name is John Paul Batista. I am a 35-year-old photojournalist for a large publishing company that specializes in travel, leisure and exploration magazines. My assignments are worldwide -- one week I might be hiking through the French countryside and the next I might be riding a camel in the Tunisian desert. I get paid (pretty handsomely I might add) to be a globetrotter; how cool is that? After fifteen years as a photojournalist, I've had countless adventures -- I've seen a lot of remarkable things and met a lot of fascinating people. I'm fluent in five languages and can get by on the basics with a few others.
There is a downside to this job, however. I have no place to call home. I have a condo in D.C. with no furniture except a bed and a few unpacked moving boxes. Besides, there's no one to come home to. I had a boyfriend once -- Adam -- but he grew tired of the extremely-long-distance relationship. Who could blame him?
Since Adam broke up with me, I haven't even attempted to get into a serious relationship. Don't get me wrong; I've had more than my fair share of one-night stands and a few "long-term" hook-ups. I'm not necessarily proud of my sluttish ways, but I won't apologize for satisfying my healthy sexual appetite. I'm weak when it comes to good-looking men and I've had no problems attracting them.
With a former Brazilian model for a mother and sex-symbol Anglo-American actor as a father, I had pretty good genes. I've been told that I have an "exotic" look. In America, I guess that means a look unlike anything you'd find in a J. Crew catalog -- and you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who looks like me in there. Someone with my sandy-blond wavy hair, hazel eyes, caramel-colored skin and chiseled features might be more easily found in a Calvin Klein ad -- if they were slumming that is. I've also been told that I'm modest to the point of being self-deprecating. I don't think I'm ugly, I just don't put as much importance or faith in my looks as everyone else seems to.
Most of the time, I travel with Jake. He's by far the best staff writer we have, so it only made sense that he would work with the best photographer. Jake's a pretty good looking guy and has also had his fair share of sexual escapades. He's painfully straight, but he's always eager to learn about different cultures, even that of gay men. I guess that's what makes him so great at what he does. As a result, we often trade stories about whom we fucked the night before. During one such session, he showed me a journal that he keeps with the names of the women he's been with, a brief description of each along with a rating of their sexual prowess. It was crass, I know, but his descriptions were always amusing and his rating system was usually comically subjective.
We were sitting outside a cafe in London one day when he was jotting down some details on the previous night's victim, Kylie. "What's the rating on this one?" I asked.
"I'm giving her a 9 for technique, but she only gets a 4 for originality."
"So she was excellent at being derivative, right?"
"Yeah! Mind if I use that?"
"No, not at all," I answered with a chuckle. "But, don't you think you're being a little unfair? It's hard to find something original when you've done just about everything with just about everyone."
"Not everything," he said teasingly, throwing a wink my way. "Besides, you have some nerve! I've seen you dragging a different guy away from the bar every night this week."
"Yeah, well at least I don't write their names down in a book."
"Maybe you should... at least the good ones. That way, you'll remember to look them up the next time you're in their town."
At first, I laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion, but later that night, after a dismal night at the bar, I found myself doing exactly that. I only wrote down the names of the guys who popped into my head right away. I figured everybody else was too mediocre to remember. When I finished the list, I noticed a strange pattern: there were exactly 26 names and each one started with a different letter of the alphabet.
"That's pretty wild!" Jake said when I showed him the list. "This is a cool concept for a book, ya know."
"Yeah right," I replied, snatching the list from his hand.
"No, dude, seriously. You should write a book about these guys. I'll even help you if you want. It'll be great! I can see it now, America's next best-seller, `The Alphabet Lovers.' Sounds like a Harlequin Romance, doesn't it?"
I can always count on Jake coming up with some outrageous ideas and most of the time he thought of things just to be silly. But he was dead serious about this one -- and bursting with enthusiasm. His zealousness must have been contagious, because by the time I finished my cup of coffee we were hashing out the details for the first chapter. We worked late into the night, forgetting about satisfying our libidos for the moment. And so began the weaving of the tale of the "Alphabet Lovers."
I met Adam in college, in the days when I was still experimenting with my sexuality. I was a sophomore -- fairly social, mildly popular and loved to party. He was a senior and the big man on campus; smart, athletic, funny, rich and oh so HOT. Just shy of six feet tall with 175 pounds of finely toned muscle, Adam was a 100%-certified, blond-haired, green-eyed All-American frat boy. Everybody wanted a piece of him -- especially me. He was the first guy I ever had a crush on, and I couldn't approach him to save my life.
He was just too damned intimidating. Not because of his demeanor or actions, mind you. He couldn't be any more charming. He was so worldly, he could talk about anything; and he talked to everybody, even the computer lab geeks (no offense to the nerds of the world). He was straight, though, or at least everyone assumed he was. Although no one claimed to be his girlfriend (or boyfriend) and his love life seemed almost non-existent, he was always flirting with one girl or another. So, thinking he was straight, I was afraid I'd say something to offend him and he'd make me the school's social pariah. He seemed cool with gay guys, but even the most open-minded straight guys can act get a little testy sometimes.
On top of that, he was just so beautiful. The mere sight of him turned my brain to pulp. I even practiced what I'd say to him when I got the nerve up. When I finally did get the courage, I ended up sounding like a babbling idiot. In true form, Adam just smiled and tried to make the best of it. Humiliated beyond imagination, I quickly excused myself and hid in my room for the rest of the weekend. I decided to save myself from any further embarrassment by just avoiding him completely. Of course, that's when I started running into him everywhere: in the cafeteria, at parties, at the video store, or in class -- and we didn't even take the same classes. To make matters worse, he made it a point of starting up a conversation with me every time, and every time I made a bigger fool of myself. It was like a fucking conspiracy. Anyway, I was chilling out on the quad one day, taking a quick nap between classes. It was nice and warm out, so I stripped out of my shirt and used it and my books as a make-shift pillow. I had just drifted off to sleep when I heard heavy footsteps approaching. I opened my eyes to see Adam jogging in place beside me. All I could focus on was how his sweaty gray t-shirt clung to his beefy pecs. I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look.
"So that's the secret to John Paul's killer tan," he said between puffs of air.
"Oh no, this is all natural," I answered with surprising wit.
"Genetics can be so unfair," he commented and stopped running in place.
"Who needs genetics when you can just buy it?"
"The tan maybe, but not the rest of the package?" he asked.
"I'm afraid I don't understand..."
"I mean, you can't buy killer looks like that. There's not a plastic surgeon in the world that can duplicate that. I swear I hear panties falling whenever you walk by... a few jock straps too. Seriously dude, you make it hard for normal guys like me to get a date around here."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing: the star of my wet dreams telling me that he couldn't get a date because I looked better than him. This had to be some kind of joke. I mean, I won't deny that I'm a pretty good-looking guy, but he was crazy to think that anyone was even giving me a second thought when he was around.
"You're hardly normal. You're like the hottest guy on campus," I blurted out. "I mean, I know women who'd pay to get with you."
"Yeah, right," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "Listen, I've gotta finish my run before class. Are you coming to our party tonight?"
"Definitely."
"Sweet," he said with a big toothy smile. "I'll see you there."
He waved and jogged off. I dropped my head back on my books and tried to make sense of the conversation. After that exchange, there was no way in hell I'd be able to fall back asleep.
I thought the day would never end. My two one-hour lectures felt more like ten hours. I'd never been so excited about a Gamma Psi party in my life. It wasn't the promise of cheap beer and bad music on a Friday night that had me so keyed up though. I rushed home to pick out something to wear. It was four and the party didn't start until nine, but I figured it'd take me that long to try on every outfit in my closet.
I walked into the frat house (fashionably late, of course) and coolly scanned the crowd for Adam. It's usually just a matter of looking for the mob of people that naturally gravitated towards him. There was no horde, however, and Adam was nowhere to be found. I tried to hide my disappointment when I couldn't find him. I didn't want to ask for him for risk of sounding pathetic, so I skulked over to the keg corner, grabbed a plastic cup of tepid beer and headed for the deck. For some reason, nobody ever wandered that far to the back of the house. I'd often sneak off to get away from the throbbing techno music and the freshmen who thought they were cool because they'd been "invited" to a public frat party. But there was already somebody on the deck that night -- it was Adam.
"I figured you'd make your way out here sooner or later," Adam said as I walked up beside him. "You come out here a lot."
I was surprised that he had even noticed. "Yeah, well, this isn't really my scene."
"Why do you come then?"
"For the free beer," I lied then took a drink. Seventeen years later, I still frown from the memory of the beer's acrid flavor.
He nodded and smirked as he watched me fight off a frown. "You know, this is the second conversation we've had today," he said. "And here I was beginning to think you didn't like me."
"Don't be ridiculous! Everybody likes you. I mean, what's not to like? You're smart and funny and outgoing." I gulped down my beer and added, "Good looking."
He just stood there looking into his empty plastic cup.
"You don't really come to these parties for the beer, do you?" he asked, turning his steely gaze on me.
I stared back into his eyes. "No, not really."
That's when Adam, the boy of my dreams, the sexiest man on the planet, leaned in and kissed me. Out of the blue, no warning, he just flat out kissed me. He was tentative at first, as if testing my response. When I didn't protest, he leaned in further and started kissing me like he meant it. The taste of beer was heavy on his tongue and lips, but it was sweeter when mixed with his manly flavor.
At once, I was completely swept up in the moment. I couldn't believe it: Adam was kissing me! He was really kissing me! Then I thought, "I'm kissing another guy!"
"What's wrong?" Adam asked when I pulled away. "I thought you... isn't this what you wanted?"
"Oh boy is it. I've wanted to do that for a long time, but... I-I've never done this kind of thing with another guy before... It feels a little weird? I guess it freaked me out."
The concern and confusion that had once wrinkled his brow washed away. He smiled and said, "If it makes you feel any better, I'm a little freaked out too. I mean, I've been with guys before, but none like you; none that I've wanted as badly as I want you."
My heart sputtered to a halt. Not once in the million and one times that I dreamt about this first encounter had I imagined it playing out like this. He was the man of my dreams, not the other way around. But there he was, waiting eagerly for me to make the next move. I wasn't about to disappoint him. I leaned forward and kissed him. This time, I didn't plan to pull away.
Any apprehension that I'd had before were completely gone. I met his passion lick for lick, nibble for nibble. We explored each other's clothed body, working ourselves into a sexual frenzy. I started to lift Adam's T-shirt, but he pulled away.
"Not here," he said, panting. "Let's go back to my place, okay?"
"Sure," I replied breathlessly.
By "his place," I thought he meant his room at the frat house, but when he led me around the house to a small parking I realized he meant his condo in the city. We hopped into his Porsche and in five minutes, we were on the highway.
Adam downshifted and mashed down on the throttle. The little sports car shot off into the night, letting out a savage growl that embodied the sexual energy we were fighting to contain.
"Can we listen to some tunes," I asked, thinking it would take my mind off of how horny I was.
Adam slipped a CD into the player. A few seconds later a luscious bass line poured out of the speakers. It was soon joined by a sparse, mid-tempo beat and the seductive moans and coos of some silky-voiced siren. I looked over at the pilot who was grinning at the obvious affects of the song on my libido. He knew what he was doing. Adam put his hand on my leg and started stroking my thigh. I breathed in sharply then closed my eyes and started moaning along with the song's vocalist.
With the passing of every mile ticker, his hand crept further up my leg until it came to rest on my crotch. I parted my legs and slid my hips forward to give him better access. He cupped my cock and balls in his large hand and started squeezing them to the beat of the song.
As the song's tempo increased, so did his driving speed and the intensity of his dick massage. Between the speed, the music and his expert manhandling, I was in sensory overload and close to cumming in my pants when he pulled his hand away. He turned into a parking garage and just as he pulled into a parking space, the now frenzied song came to an abrupt end. He leaned over and kissed me then jumped out of the car.
We hopped on an elevator and before the doors could close, he swooped in for the kill. "You sure you want to do this?" he asked between tender little kisses on my lips, chin and neck. I responded by giving his hefty-sized package a firm squeeze. The elevator doors flew open, he pulled my hand off his cock and led me down the hall.
I didn't see much of his condo that night as we made a bee-line for the bedroom, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in our wake. Soon we were naked and writhing on his king-sized bed. My fingers explored every detail of his body, which was more superb than I had imagined. I followed the thin trail of hair down his rock hard stomach until my hand finally came to rest on his swollen rod. I was fascinated by how different his dick felt from my own. It was a little shorter, but fatter and covered with thick veins. He nuzzled my neck as I slowly stroked his pole.
"See how hard you make me, John Paul?" he whimpered. "It gets like this every time I'm around you."
"Then, fuck me with it."
"Not yet. You're not ready and," he added with a grin, "I want this to last."
"Just relax and let me do the rest," he commanded as he rolled me onto my back. I felt like melting into the bed as he started kissing my body, leaving little wet marks all over my chest and stomach that cooled in the air. He kissed my cock head which lay throbbing just below my navel. I'd never had a blowjob before and wanted so badly for him to give me my first, but it wasn't in his plans. He licked and kissed his way down the underside of my pulsing member until his lips settled on my nuts.
Adam shifted around so that he was kneeling between my outstretched legs. He grabbed the back of my knees and pushed them up to my shoulders. As he did, my ass cheeks spread apart and exposed my virgin pucker to him. I was nervous with anticipation but he didn't keep me waiting for long. He teased my balls for a while with an occasional lick. Then I felt his tongue flicking along my frenum before taking its first tentative lick at my asshole. It felt strange and invasive at first, so I instinctively tightened my ass muscles. Adam continued licking around my rosebud, patiently waiting for the right moment. That moment came in short time when my unused hole began to quiver like the rest of me. Seizing his opportunity, Adam thrust his tongue inside, and from that point on, my ass belonged to him. He licked, sucked, and prodded my ass furiously. I was already squirming with delight when he jabbed a finger up my hole. The sudden penetration was enough to send me into sexual overdrive. He had real man's hands with long fingers and thick knuckles. My ass gripped each joint firmly as it slipped through. Shivers coursed through my body when he wiggled his digit around inside. By then, my dick was painfully stiff and dropping a pool of pre-cum on my tummy.
When he introduced a second finger, I could feel the burn as it stretched my ass to new limits. I gritted my teeth and rode it out and after a few seconds of his gentle thrusting, the tingles came back. I was bucking up against his hand trying to get more of his fingers inside. So, he added one more. The last insertion wasn't so bad because in seconds he had all three fingers thrusting and wiggling in my ass, hitting every hot spot they could find. I was in ecstasy and I was impatient for the real thing.
"Fuck me!" I growled.
He grinned devilishly and positioned himself between my thighs. Pinning my knees back with his shoulders, he had full access to my aching hole. With the tip of his manhood pressed firmly against the entrance, he leaned down and kissed me then thrust his hips forward to bury his dick in my chute. It slid all the way in, in one painfully smooth motion. I clenched my teeth to fight back the pain. He did his best to comfort me with soft kisses on my face as he worked his hips in a tiny circle, and suddenly, the tip of his cock hit something deep inside. I relaxed my grip on his shoulders and let out a throaty groan that let him know I was ready.
He slowly pulled out so I could feel every bump on his thick shaft. Leaving just the head inside, he wiggled his hips then slammed all the way back in.
"Yes! Oh yes, Adam, fuck my ass hard... just like that."
That was all the encouragement he needed to begin plowing my butt with his fuck stick. He put his all into it -- every muscle on his body flexed and relaxed as he laid his pipe. The sound of his balls slapping against my ass filled through the room. We were both grunting and sweating like pigs. He was literally fucking the juice out of me as rivers of pre-cum streamed down my sides.
"Damn this ass is sweet!" he bellowed. "Uhn, yeah, I'm gonna bust my nut."
"Ooh yeah, drop that load inside me."
Adam drove in three more bone-crushing thrusts and erupted deep in my bowels. I milked his prong with my ass, determined to get every drop of his hot cum. The last convulsion triggered my own orgasm and I sprayed eight or nine jets of thick spooge all over my chest and stomach. One of them landed on my lip and Adam dove in like a vulture to lick it off. Then he collapsed on top of me; his slowly softening dick still planted in my sloppy hole and his heaving chest pressed firmly against the back of my thighs.
"Was it everything you expected?" he asked, huffing.
"Mm hmm, and then some. I could do that all night," I replied, still basking in the afterglow of the most powerful orgasm I had ever experienced. I felt his cock jump to attention again. "I was hoping you'd say that."
So he fucked me again. Then, I fucked him a couple of times. We fell asleep in each other's arms only to wake up the following morning and start all over again. I never did get a blowjob that weekend. Oh well. Adam dropped me off at my dorm Sunday afternoon with a kiss and the promise that he'd call me later that night. But, as he drove away and I started to recall the events of the weekend, I started to doubt he'd ever call. Our escape to his private condo, which I once believed to be a romantic and intimate getaway, began to feel more like a scheme to keep our affair hidden. Suddenly, it all made sense. Adam was extremely skilled in bed -- he must have had plenty of practice. And he managed to keep his trysts top secret by sweeping his lovers away to his urban love nest.
Don't get me wrong, I was, in no way, criticizing him for being in the closet. How could I when I was right there beside him. What worried me was how many others had been there before me? Did he fuck them and toss them aside the next day? And, if so, was I next? If you had asked me last week if I would be happy just to have sex with Adam I would have said, "Hell yeah!" But, as I threw myself down on my hard dormitory bed, I realized that I wanted more. I wanted to be with Adam, as his friend, his lover and his companion. Adam, it seemed, may have had other plans.
My concerns seemed justified when Adam didn't call as promised. I moped around all day Monday. I avoided all my friends and even skipped my first two classes. By midday I decided to just go back to my dorm room and sulk in peace. And there he was, standing across the quad, talking to a small group of his friends. I pretended not to see him and continued walking.
"Hey, John Paul, wait up!" he yelled. He broke off from the group and jogged over to me. I slowed down, a little, to let him catch up.
"Hey cutie, I've been looking all over for you," he said. "You weren't in either of your classes."
"You were in my classes looking for me?"
"Yeah, I wanted to apologize for not calling you last night. I went back to the frat house and crashed. You wore me out."
He always said the sweetest things. "And I wanted to make up for it," he added.
"How?" I asked.
He flashed that seductively devilish grin of his then, in clear view of what seemed like half the student population, Adam put his hands on my waist and kissed me. It was a soft, lingering kiss on the lips; not so much as to be obscene but more than enough to bring a definite and dramatic end to our days in the closet.
The scandal spread like wildfire. By dinnertime, everyone on campus knew about the kiss and about us. I wish I could say everything was "happily ever after," but it wasn't. I'm glad to say, however, that the issues were few. We faced our fair share of assholes and deserting "friends", but it wasn't nearly as traumatic as I thought it would be. It didn't matter one way or another though; Adam was worth any amount of hassle.
Adam graduated the following year and took a job in Marketing at his father's publishing company. When I graduated the year after that, he convinced me to give up the stodgy world of finance for a career in something I enjoyed and was good at -- photography. It just so happened that his father's company was looking for a photographer at the time.
We moved to D.C. and became outrageously successful in our careers. Unfortunately, my success would eventually tear us apart. Two years later, we broke up. It was as amicable as a break-up can be. We loved each other madly but realized that we couldn't make it work. I used to call him every day for months after we broke up, until he started dating the evil and insanely jealous Michael.
Adam is and will always be the one true love of my life.